


Paper Cuts

by Tiberius_Tibia



Category: Watchmen (2009), Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dan Dreiberg Tries, Eddie Blake is a terrible person, Forced Voyeurism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Violence, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiberius_Tibia/pseuds/Tiberius_Tibia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the events of Watchmen, the Comedian rapes Rorschach, films it and sends the tape to Dan. Dan does his best, but struggles to find his role as comforter, protector and agent of justice.</p><p>Originally posted on the Watchmen Kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Cuts

They arrived on the same day- Rorschach materialized in a compact ball deep in the cushions of Dan’s couch; the slightly battered package buried underneath the Ornithology Magazines and junk mail in his mail box. He tended to Rorschach first, leaving the unexpected piece of mail temporarily forgotten in his intray.

“Hey buddy, you ok?” Dan was hesitant, he hadn’t seen any sign of Rorschach for months- not so much as an empty sugar bowl. Rorschach didn’t even offer one of his patented monosyllables in response, merely nodded his masked head against the pillow- a worn throw pillow with a knit owl that Dan’s grandmother had made for him. The unnatural stillness of Rorschach’s fetus-curled form made Dan deeply nervous. Long years of partnership had taught him that Rorschach had two modes- frenetic energy and intent calm- and he knew which was a greater danger signal. Dan studied the rise and fall of Rorschach’s pointed shoulder blades for a moment, then left his partner in peace.

The puzzle of Rorschach’s behavior wouldn’t let him concentrate on reading, and after half an hour Dan sighed and retreated to the Owl Nest in search of something to clean. The task left his mind free to mull unchecked and he dusted and straightened, content on autopilot, until he found the rags. In a corner of the tunnel, almost invisible in the poor light, Dan found a small heap of old t-shirts and cut up towels that he kept for polishing Archie. The t-shirts had been plain Hanes white cotton, the towels had been grey. Now they were sticky and rust colored with clotted blood. Dan dropped them in automatic disgust before he realized where they must have come from and all the air was sucked from his lungs.

Turning on his heel, Dan fled back to the living room, taking the stairs two at a time. The couch was empty- no Rorschach. Dan stood, breathing hard for several anxious, bewildered moments. Gradually he recognized the roaring in his ears for what it was- the pipes. Rorschach was running the shower. Rorschach was hiding his injuries. Rorschach was running the goddamn shower. This was worse than he’d thought. The unease that had begun gnawing at Dan’s guts when he’d found Rorschach prostrate on his couch ate its way up into his throat and he took the stairs to the landing very slowly.

For several moments, Dan merely rested his palm against the heavy wood door, listening to the running water. Summoning his courage he knocked before he could second guess himself.

“Rorschach? Man, are you hurt? Let me in.”

The water stopped, then Rorschach’s voice, harsher than Dan remembered, “Fine. Am fine Daniel.”

“I know you’re hurt Rorschach, let me in. Let me help.”

“No Daniel. Unnecessary. Will need your help- later. Will ask for it.”

Dan stroked the door feeling more helpless and frightened than he had since his last awful nights as Nite Owl. “Right- how do I know you won’t just disappear? That you’ll let me help you?”

“Came here, didn’t I?”

There was nothing to say to that so Dan sighed and turned to head back downstairs when Rorschach called after him, “Daniel? Could borrow some clothes?”

Dan shook himself and went to find something that would fit his slight partner, desperately trying to ignore the surreal wrongness of it all.  
When Rorschach reappeared, his mask rolled up but sticking to his damp hair, crushingly un-funny in the too-big Harvard sweats he’d borrowed, Dan was prepared. He wasn’t risking letting Rorschach escape unbandaged and had gathered all the necessary supplies ready to hand. Little shockwaves of guilt kept interrupting his thoughts, telling Dan that at least some of his concern was born of morbid curiosity as to what could possibly have stopped Rorschach- Rorschach- in his tracks like that. Dan felt like a rubbernecker, peering at something he had no right to, but even that wouldn’t make him let Rorschach slip away without at least one friendly touch. 

Rorschach padded softly into the living room, shirtless, Dan’s pants not rolled at the ankle but rather tugged up around his rib cage, leaving only the top half of his torso visible. The old EMT training that had never completely faded kicked in and Dan began to make a mental inventory of the injuries. The mask was draped across Rorschach’s nose, hooked over his slightly jug ears, still dark with blood. Rorschach apparently was still Rorschach enough to skip washing his ears. He was missing at least one tooth and there was an ugly, strawberry-colored band, the width of a belt, circling his throat. Dan took it all in as he motioned Rorschach to sit on the couch, thinking only I’ve never seen Rorschach barefoot before.

His partner held out a hand swollen and bruised a color no human skin should ever be. Three of his fingers were crudely splinted and Dan gingerly reset them. Speaking as carefully as he moved, Dan asked, “Want to tell me what happened?”

“No.” The answer was immediate.

He didn’t press, continued to offer what help he could, just the right balance between too impersonal and too gentle. An ace bandage around tightly around a swollen ankle, a daub of alcohol on a cotton swab to clean the remaining blood out of Rorschach’s ears. Rorschach turned, resting his head against the armrest to give Dan access to two perfectly round, livid burns, the size of quarters in the middle of his back. 

As Dan spread aloe on the burns Rorschach spoke, “Can’t guess Daniel? Very bad. Deductive skills worse than expected.” He said it with the tone of someone repeating a joke they didn’t understand.

“It looks like you were attacked. Badly,” Dan could feel the cords of Rorschach’s neck twist in protest as he massaged the rope burn.

“Hurm, unimportant. Changes nothing,” it hurt to listen to Rorschach’s voice, too rough from strangulation and suppressed emotion and Dan almost regretted asking what had happened, “Changes nothing? Daniel?” It had become a question, and Dan had never gotten away with evading him when Rorschach asked a direct question.

“No, buddy,” he measured his words carefully, “Not if you don’t want it to. It doesn’t change who you are.”  
Rorschach sighed and relaxed imperceptibly. Dan took one last long gaze at the two burns, they seemed to be boring into him as much as Rorschach. He placed a strip of clean white gauze over each and carefully pressed the medical tape down with his thumb. 

The smaller man rose shakily from the couch. His breathing for the last few moments had grown increasingly erratic. Dan only hoped that when his ex-partner inevitably punched him he’d have the sense not to do it with the hand Dan had just spent all that time splinting. Instead Rorschach merely inquired if he could sleep there another night. Rorschach’s courtly politeness- always so incongruous and familiar- made Dan’s chest ache.

“Sure thing- as long as you need. You remember the rules though, you have to take the guest room, and no shoes in the bed.”

Rorschach grunted, “Remember.” He turned to go, “Thank you Daniel. Were always a good friend.”

Dan sat for a long time after Rorschach left, idly twining the remaining scrap of gauze tightly around his finger, watching it flush and swell until the pain sank in, then unwinding it slowly. He thought about broken fingers and the way when a man’s head struck a wall the right way- or the horribly wrong way it made him start bleeding from the ears and nose. He thought about sprained ankles and bruised throats and deep cruel burns. 

Even taken all together none of these injuries was really serious. Rorschach could and did take worse every night of the week. There was something else, something about the insidious intimacy of the wounds and Rorschach’s subdued quiet that prickled unpleasantly at the edges of his mind.

Dan wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he had know way of knowing how many hours later it was- the digital clock on the tv just a blur of red squares- when he rose from the couch like a sleepwalker and made his way upstairs. Something had startled him out of his half-drowsy reverie. Nearing the door of the guest room he heard what it was- the low keening noises came again and pierced through to Dan’s conscious. Even in his sleep he’d been attuned to his partner’s distress, and was drawn to him like a homing pigeon. Fully awake now, he stood rooted to the spot, as deeply horrified as a child at the first sight of a parent’s tears. The sound came again, the moan of someone who knows exactly what’s coming and how bad it will be, and Dan physically could not keep still. 

He pushed the door open without knocking. Rorschach had worked his way down into the covers, his arms raised over his head, fists- even the broken one- clawing the headboard. Dan strode to his side and ran a hand over the contorted muscles. His partner flailed, trying to sit up and catching himself in the tangled sheets. He hissed and thrashed and Dan thought of a bird he’d once seen snared, tearing its own flesh and feathers in frustrated terror. 

“Easy- easy, Rorschach. It’s me, it’s Dan. Just Dan.”

“Daniel?” Rorschach stilled and allowed Dan to unwind his limbs one by one from the restraining blankets. 

He was drenched in sweat. Dan kicked the sheets to the floor, leaving only the down quilt at the foot of the bed. He drew it up and cautiously resumed rubbing Rorschach’s arms and shoulders. Rorschach repeated his name in the darkness. Rorschach used so few words, but Dan could have filled a book with all the different inflections he gave his partner’s name, and the meaning behind each.

“I know buddy,” he whispered, “I know.”

Even if Rorschach had the words for what had happened- which Dan very much doubted- he’d rather die than say them out loud. So Dan held him, and read the awful story in the Braille of Rorschach’s ugly, uneven skin. So many scars- tenfold more than there’d been fifteen years ago, when Dan had deflected the last blow from Rorschach’s back. So many fights he’d missed, so many wounds Rorschach hadn’t come to him for- some of them frightening to look at even now, the skin still fragile and pearly white with newness. 

“Should go Daniel. No need to stay. Will- will sleep,” Rorschach tried to whisper but his throat was too damaged for anything more controlled than a raspy bark.

In the halo of the city’s light pollution Dan could see that Rorschach jaw was clenched and his toes were curled hard. He racked his brain for an excuse to stay and came up with the truth, “Do you mind if I stay? I haven’t been sleeping well lately, I’ll just sit up for a while if that’s ok?” Rorschach hurmed and nodded almost imperceptibly. 

Dan lay on his back. After an eternity of tossing, Rorschach’s masked head had found a comfortable pillow on Dan’s round shoulder. Twice more Rorschach’s arms began their jerky dance up over his head, and twice Dan guided them back and held the thin, calloused hands in his own soft ones. He drifted off holding Rorschach in that gentle restraint.

He woke to the sounds of retching. The bathroom door was locked when he tried it, and Dan thought it best to leave Rorschach to recover some of his prickly dignity in privacy. When his old partner came down to the kitchen, dressed once more in his customary suit, there was a chilled Coke and a stack of sugar cubes waiting for him. Rorschach sipped the coke with a noise Dan remembered as gratitude. Without asking, he set a plate of buttered toast in front of the vigilante.

“I put sugar on it for you,” he said, heading off the inevitable battle to make Rorschach eat an actual meal. 

But the smaller man accepted the plate wordlessly and did try to get some of it down, throwing Dan back into the confused pendulum of behavior he’d seen since the day before- first wholly and unmistakably Rorschach, then wholly and unmistakably not. Rorschach even cleared his own plate.

“Going now,” he held out his uninjured hand, hesitated, and started to draw back. 

Dan caught and clasped him firmly. It was impossible to be sure with the mask, but he did his best to look Rorschach in the eyes, “Ok, but come back. Please? You know I’ll worry, I’ll get distracted worrying- I won’t be vigilant!” Rorschach gazed at their two hands for a long moment, then he nodded and was gone.

In the wake of all the messy memories his former partner left behind him, Dan cast about for something to occupy his oversaturated mind. Rorschach made hardly any noise these days, but the brownstone seemed unnaturally quiet without him. Dan sighed and tried to think about the day’s events clearly. Maybe it would help if I put the nightvision on he thought wryly as he settled into his usual puttering; making the bed, clearing the dishes, sorting the mail.  
********************

Two minutes in and he knew this was no Discovery Channel promo for bird conservation. The footage was in washed-out color, lit with industrial fluorescent lights with the quality of the average home-movie. The screen showed what appeared to be a private gym, weights in the corner, exercise machines lining the walls. In the center a man was working a punching bag. The tape had no sound apparently but Dan could tell the man was breathing with heavy, grunting exhalations punctuating each blow. 

He was a big man, built like a linebacker and something about him was vaguely familiar. At least the form was familiar, no one could see a face so twisted with sneering disgust and forget it.

He continued to work the bag for a few minutes and Dan was getting ready to turn the tape off, well and truly weirded out, and write the whole thing off as a bizarre joke. The man gave the bag one last kick. He turned directly towards the camera and grinned. Dan felt spider legs tickling his neck. The man spun the bag, locating the zipper that held the padding, and peeled it down. A skinny figure in a rumpled suit and wife-beater tumbled out and hit the floor hard.

Dan’s hand shot out and he hit the pause button in a reflex of self-preservation. He did not- did not want to see this. The footage froze midway in a fantastic action still of the almost-stranger pulling back to stomp directly on Rorschach’s left ankle. Dan closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the warm glass of the tv screen. Fuzzy bits of electricity tickled his forehead and made his hair dance with static. It was a comforting feeling for someone who’d spent his happiest hours soldering and tinkering, and Dan stayed like that until the pause wore off and he heard the VCR begin to whir again.

When he looked again, the man was kneeling on Rorschach’s chest, forcing a wad of white material with unique black markings into the mouth of the sorriest looking human being Dan had ever seen. Rorschach’s head was lolling alarmingly but he fought his attacker and tried to spit the mask out. He got a closed-fisted jab between the eyes and a strip of duct tape over his mouth for his efforts.

All the while, the muscles in Rorschach’s back churned and worked furiously-he can lift that, of course he can lift that- just one arm, buddy, you can do it, just one goddamn arm- but even in the crappy footage Dan could see that his limbs were trembling with pain and damage. He’d been worked over too well, and Dan recognized the strung-out spaghetti feeling from the years he’d spent getting beaten up on a regular basis.

Leaning over him, the man unbuckled Rorschach’s trousers and jerked them, along with his underwear down to his ankles. Rorschach twitched and bucked when those big hands grazed along his hips, but it must have felt as obscene as it looked and he froze and lay breathing like something hunted. The man dropped his own shorts carelessly to the side. He gripped Rorschach around the thighs and rocked against him, his mouth slack with- no, not pleasure because no one could- please don’t let it be possible that someone could enjoy doing that. 

The man spread Rorschach and slid forward into him. His expression never changed. There was no sound on the video, and of course Dan knew too well that Rorschach was gagged, but in his head there was an awful soundtrack of angry, miserable Rorschach noises timed along with the brutal, unflagging thrusts. The man- scum, monster, motherfucking rapist, no word bad enough to describe- kneaded Rorschach’s ass and Dan noticed to his own horror that Rorschach really did have a nice, round ass for such a skinny guy. 

It must have been hot in there. The rapist was gleaming with sweat and Rorschach’s wife beater was sticking to every contour. It was obscene, Rorschach being slid back and forth on the damp leather with every stroke, struggling like two halves of an earthworm split by a cruel child; slick and ugly and helpless. Dan was numb, but the rational part of his brain recognized the insidious sadism of this form of restraint. 

If Rorschach could only focus his strength, lift one arm- he felt sick even thinking like that, and knew with terrible certainty that this had been done specifically because it was something that Rorschach would never forgive himself for.

The man hauled Rorschach across the room and shoved him belly-down onto a bench upholstered in black leather. He braced a knee against Rorschach’s back and reached for a weight from the stack. The man was strong, but it cost him some effort to drag the weights forward. Each one was attached to a metal cuff, lined with terrycloth. Gritting his teeth, the man pinned Rorschach’s clawing arm and snapped the weight tightly around his wrist. Tethered like that, the weight dragged Rorschach’s arm to the floor. He secured Rorschach’s other limbs, wrenching the broken ankle cruelly, and arranged the thin body to be splayed out starfish-like.

All the while, the muscles in Rorschach’s back churned and worked furiously- _he can lift that, of course he can lift that- just one arm, buddy, you can do it, just one goddamn arm_ \- but even in the crappy footage Dan could see that his limbs were trembling with pain and damage. He’d been worked over too well, and Dan recognized the strung-out spaghetti feeling from the years he’d spent getting beaten up on a regular basis.

Leaning over him, the man unbuckled Rorschach’s trousers and jerked them, along with his underwear down to his ankles. Rorschach twitched and bucked when those big hands grazed along his hips, but it must have felt as obscene as it looked and he froze and lay breathing like something hunted. The man dropped his own shorts carelessly to the side. He gripped Rorschach around the thighs and rocked against him, his mouth slack with- _no, not pleasure because no one could- please don’t let it be possible that someone could enjoy doing that_. 

The man spread Rorschach and slid forward into him. His expression never changed. There was no sound on the video, and of course Dan knew too well that Rorschach was gagged, but in his head there was an awful soundtrack of angry, miserable Rorschach noises timed along with the brutal, unflagging thrusts. The man- _scum, monster, motherfucking rapist, no word bad enough to describe_ \- kneaded Rorschach’s ass and Dan noticed to his own horror that Rorschach really did have a nice, round ass for such a skinny guy. 

It must have been hot in there. The rapist was gleaming with sweat and Rorschach’s wife beater was sticking to every contour. It was obscene, Rorschach being slid back and forth on the damp leather with every stroke, struggling like two halves of an earthworm split by a cruel child; slick and ugly and helpless. Dan was numb, but the rational part of his brain recognized the insidious sadism of this form of restraint. 

_If Rorschach could only focus his strength, lift one arm-_ he felt sick even thinking like that, and knew with terrible certainty that this had been done specifically because it was something that Rorschach would never forgive himself for. 

One final thrust and it was over. The man withdrew, a thin stream of cum fell against the flushed, freckled skin. The man stepped away, out of frame, and there were dark smears of blood visible on Rorschach’s inner thighs. When he returned a moment later he was wearing a clean pair of shorts and smoking a cigar.

It all clicked into place with the cigar and became so blindingly obvious that Dan hated himself for not guessing from the second he saw the marks on Rorschach’s back. The body language, the bulky physique, the air of malicious amusement, the mere fact that someone had overpowered Rorschach- it could only ever have been one person. 

The Comedian looked bigger than Dan remembered, and slightly more grizzled, but there was nothing changed in the cold eyes. Or in the unhurried way he took several long, leisurely puffs at the cigar. Dan knew what was coming, but he winced when the Comedian pressed the burning end to Rorschach’s sweaty shoulder. The thin body writhed but couldn’t avoid the flame as the pale skin began to sear. He moved it to the other shoulder, and a voice in Dan’s head counted the seconds out…”one sugarplum fairy, two sugarplum fairy…” He got to twenty-two before it stopped. The Comedian finished his cigar standing over Rorschach, letting the vigilante hurt and wonder while he enjoyed what Dan remembered was an expensive brand of bootlegged Cubans.

Flicking away the butt, he drew something long and white from the waist band of his shorts- Rorschach’s scarf. Dan moaned aloud in the quiet of his living room, exhausted and sick to death of this sadistic scavenger hunt. He could catalogue a complete list of the injuries he’d patched up, but until the Comedian actually began to inflict them, Dan never quite believed he was going to. In the video, the Comedian wrapped the scarf swiftly around Rorschach’s exposed neck and pulled. The soft white cloth bit into his neck and with the rush of oxygen-deprived adrenaline Rorschach made one last effort to free himself. He failed.

The Comedian stopped pulling and Rorschach’s chest rose and fell faster than it had after any back-alley fight. He’s still gagged you evil bastard, he can only breath through his nose, he’s not getting enough air. Even as Dan was thinking it, the Comedian tore the tape of his captive’s mouth. 

Rorschach coughed the sodden mask onto the floor. The Comedian crouched in front of Rorschach for a moment, Rorschach fighting to hold his head up enough to look the man in the eyes. There was no sound, and Dan could only see the back of the man’s head, and whatever the Comedian said to Rorschach would never be learned from the tape.

Abruptly, he uncuffed one of Rorschach’s hands and held it, big rough fingers encircling the wrist, the sweating palm in his own dry own. He stroked Rorschach’s forefinger briefly, then wrenched it backwards. Then the middle finger and the pinkie. He dropped the hand and seized the ends of the scarf again. Rorschach’s unfettered arm waved wildly as his air supply was once again cut off and to Dan he looked far too much like a crippled bird. Gradually the clawing hand became less coordinated, until it fell still. When the Comedian was apparently satisfied that Rorschach was really out and not just playing possum- you better hope he’s not playing dead you sadistic sack of shit, he’s smarter and braver and crazier than you, just go ahead and underestimate him, please Rorschach, please be faking buddy, please- he removed the rest of the restraints and stacked them neatly. 

He tilted Rorschach’s head to the side, sliding a folded towel underneath to pillow him and Dan tasted bile. So he won't choke if he vomits, you sick fuck, you unimaginable- It was the first time he’d gotten a full view of Rorschach’s face. The red hair was dark with sweat, the skin bruised nearly the same brick color. His mouth was drooling scarlet. Dan was focused solely on his partner’s unconscious face when the disgusting bulk of the Comedian filled the shot. The camera wobbled for an instant and went grey.  
************************

The stars aligned for him that night in a way that proved that God existed, even if He’d also apparently retired back in ’77. Daniel was badly out of shape and feeling it with every uncoordinated motion of this fight. Awkward as he was, the Molotov cocktail of adrenaline and muscle memory running through his veins made him more than equal to the two utterly worthless street punks he’d run into. They were the sort of spotty, swaggering, criminal wannabes that he would have admonished to go back to school in his Nite Owl days. Tonight he had no illusions about saving them from the city, or the city from them. At any rate, it was more satisfying than punching a brick wall, and slightly easier on his knuckles.

When the fight was over Dan walked away with his head ringing. It was the kind of background noise that was always present when he had his best ideas. That mental echo accompanied him all the way back to his brownstone before fading. Not that it mattered- by the time Dan had gone five blocks, he knew what to do.

Feeling blessedly free of horror or revulsion, like he was working on the tricky part of an equation, Dan rewound the tape back to the beginning. A disembodied voice from the back of the class stuck its hand up and asked why he hadn’t smashed the damn thing already, Dan ignored it. In the very opening shots of the tape there was a large window pictured along one wall. The city skyline had changed in the years since Dan had haunted it every night in Archie, but not that much. 

Twenty minutes with a compass, a guidebook and map of lower Manhattan and Dan was out pounding the pavement. The troublesome voice spoke out of turn, asking if maybe his pleasure in his own detective skills wasn’t a tad smug, maybe just a bit perverse? Dan reminded it sharply that he was doing this for Rorschach, that he’d rather have let his old talents rust and rot if it could have saved his friend pain- but it couldn’t and he should at least be glad that he wasn’t so goddamn useless that he couldn’t try to fix this.

The doorman didn’t question him when he reached the building-that-was-unquestionably-that-place, dressed in a smart suit and carrying a gym bag which he gestured to sheepishly- “Pal of mine never stops buggin’ me to use his gym, lose the paunch- heh. Finally shamed me into it.” On the ride up to vicious monster deadman Mr. Edward Blake’s floor Dan listened to the elevator music and contemplated burning the building to the ground when this was all over. Have to get everyone out of the building first…. Other than that, no real loss. Certainly no great masterpiece of engineering…

Then the doors were opening, and Dan was stepping out and up to the Comedian’s apartment. He knocked very civilly on the door and waited. Edward Blake answered the door and stood regarding him from a doormat that read ‘Damn. Nice thong.’ 

“Just a matter of time I suppose.”

“Get back inside. Keep your hands where I can see them,” his own voice startled him, its sound gravelly and familiar- but not his own.

“Come on in, junior. I ain’t gonna bite,” the Comedian seemed utterly unfazed by the gun pointed at him. He stepped back and spread his arms expansively, “Mi casa, su casa, Danny boy.”

“I saw- I saw what you did, Comedian. I saw it with my own eyes,” Dan dimly felt that maybe he didn’t need to say that, but his clear, carefully outlined list of strategies and objectives had been wiped away, and the niggling, insistent voice was the only part of his brain that had anything to offer right now. Even if they were inanities, Dan simply had nothing else to say.

“Really?!” Blake did mock surprise perfectly, “That’s a goddamn mindboggling astonishment considering I mailed it to you. Even used delivery confirmation.”

He sat back in an oversize chair and studied Dan for a moment. Dan stared back, gaze fixed on the pearly skin of his scar. “So what now? You brought the piece, are you planning to shoot me?”

“I want to know- ” and now Dan’s voice wasn’t rough at all, he could barely speak loud enough to hear himself, “I want to know why. After all this time, and Rorschach- what could he ever have done to you- Why would you- Why- ”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Why, why, why is a raven like a writing desk, junior? If that’s what you came here to ask then you’ve gone softer than I’d thought since ’77. Although I have to tell ya Owlie, I knew all the way back at Crimebusters that you weren’t the brains of the outfit. Not the brains, not the muscle, not the stomach, sure’s fuck not the balls- not much of anything ‘cept to hold Inky’s purse for him from time to time.” He grinned, and Dan was absurdly grateful that the bastard wasn’t smoking a cigar for once. He looked off without it, and that made it bearable to speak to him face to face.

“I get it Blake- I’m a big fucking joke to you. So what? Rorschach’s the real deal, and I don’t believe for a minute that this was about me.”

Blake stopped leaning back into his recliner, resting his feet carelessly on the glass coffee table. He looked pissed off for the first time, “Of course it’s a fucking joke. It’s been a joke since day one, since ole HJ decided to turn his circus act into street theater. You think you’re the first to be a ridiculous, fuckin’ cliché? Christ. It’s always been a joke, Nelly, Hollis, the Doc- the priest, the rabbi and the naked blonde. But we were all in on it- one way or another. You, me, Adrian-fucking-Veidt. But not Inky- he never got the joke. If there’s one thing I can’t stand its people who don’t get the joke. Ever see that at a party- there’s some dumb bastard who needs the punch line spoon-fed ‘em? Ruins it for everyone else. I thought our punch line was back in ’77, but I jumped the gun on that one, but still-” Blake paused and a look of real loathing passed across his face that may or may not have been directed at someone in the room, “Tried to share the joke with him, really I did. He just did not. Fucking. Get. It.”

Dan was sick of hearing him talk. His arm was getting tired of keeping the gun raised and his head ached from trying to keep up with Blake’s circular moral bullshit logic. He cocked the gun. Striking like a snake, the Comedian kicked the glass tabletop off its frame. It crashed against Dan’s shins, splinters of glass embedding like shark teeth against his bones. 

The shot went wide and Dan just had time to bring the butt of the gun around into an arcing blow against the Comedian’s head as the man barreled towards him. He knocked Dan to the ground and pinned him amidst the shards, his meaty knee grinding down onto Dan’s groin.  
Dan tried to pistol-whip him hard enough for it to count, but he couldn’t get his arm at the right angle. Still pinning him, the Comedian gave Dan four hard, open-palmed slaps, back and forth, across the cheek. Doesn’t even think enough of me for a proper punch. 

“Did that answer your question- did it?” Blake hissed.

Dan blinked blood out of his eyes, “I don’t care why. There is no why.”

“Finally, a fuckin’ honest answer from you, junior.  
So now what, you gonna kill me?”  
“Of course.”

Blake got off Dan, taking the gun easily from him. “Sure, you go home and get in shape. Then come back here and teach me a lesson. See if you can get back before the world ends. I’ll be holding my  
breath.”

Dan rose shakily to his feet, his balls hurt almost too bad to stand upright. 

“Now- get the fuck out of my house.”  
************************************************

Dan gimped home, mentally scrapping that plan. It had been born more than half-way out of his old white-knight image of the world- facing the Comedian down, confronting him with his crimes and exacting justice. Although, Dan mused, it wasn’t a bad plan. Comedian had been right in several things- right that Dan had to admit that he didn’t really give a shit why it had happened, the Comedian could done it under duress to save all the orphans and endangered species on earth from horrific death and Dan still would have wanted him dead. And Dan was no match physically for Blake, maybe had never been a match for him. But long years of engineering had taught Dan that any problem could be solved- it was simply a matter of using the right tool.  
————————————————————————-  
Dan spent the next few days doing everything he could think of to keep his mind occupied. If he thought about anything he thought about Blake, if he thought about Blake he had the uncontrollable urge to go to his building and try beating the shit out of the older man again. But that could ruin everything, and so he cleaned the Owl Nest, set up surround-sound speakers in his living room and spent every evening swilling beer and bullshitting with Hollis. It was coming back from one of these evenings that Dan arrived home to find, to his blessed relief, that his front door had been kicked in. 

Rorschach was seated at his kitchen table, scarfing beans right from the tin and acting so- not normal- but so like himself that Dan wanted to hug him tight. 

“Seen the news, Daniel?” Rorschach dropped something on the table- a small smiley face pin with a spot on it, “Badge belonged to the Comedian. Blood too. He’s dead.”

“Oh. And you’re- investigating?” Dan set the pin back on the table.

“Hrnn. An attack on one is an attack on all.”

“Have you, ah, found anything yet? I heard he was working for the government since ’77, maybe this was a political killing.”

“Maybe. Or maybe someone’s picking off costumed heroes.”

Suddenly, Dan was exhausted with this game. What he wanted to say could rend the spider web of security that held Rorschach there, but he couldn’t take another minute of that stupid you-that-I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know. But Rorschach had come to him in the first place, and that had to count for something.

“Why do you care who killed him, Rorschach? I know what he did. To you.”

Rorschach flinched and stood up, pulling his mask down. “Know-” he trailed off. Neither of them spoke. “It matters. Truth- truth matters. He said not, but know better. You- you think it matters too, Daniel?”

Dan took a step towards his partner, trying to fathom the mental leaps that Rorschach’s moral code was making. Maybe he just needs to hear it said aloud.

“Of course, buddy. Truth always matters. But he- he hurt you. That’s true too.”

“….Been hurt before. Occupational hazard.”

“Not like that, Rorschach! Not by someone you trusted. He raped you, Rorschach. The same crime you kill men for everyday. That’s the truth.”

Rorschach was unnaturally still, not moving towards the exit, not moving at all as though he were afraid by moving he’d attract the attention of something dangerous that he couldn’t out run. His voice was loud, but under the mask he kept his jaw nearly motionless as he spoke, accusing, “Same crime you don’t kill men for everyday.”

Dan cringed, “I know. I know I let things slip, I turned my back. But- everyone has things they can’t let slide, they can’t not do something about. You know that better than anyone. Rorschach- I couldn’t not do something.”

Dan hadn’t seen Rorschach draw breath since he’d taken this conversation off its innocuous tracks, he must be nearly turning blue under that mask. 

“Not the same. He was- did good work- together. Unorthodox, but- didn’t understand. Did good work, and then- didn’t understand, Daniel, I don’t understand!” His voice broke.

This time Dan reached for him. He gripped Rorschach’s shoulders and pulled him until they were almost touching nose to nose. Rorschach swayed slightly back on his heels, then forward, resting his forehead against Dan’s chest. 

Dan kept his hands just on Rorschach’s shoulders, mindful of the still healing burns and that a full embrace would make Rorschach feel constricted.  
Rorschach was murmuring into his collar bone, “Not like Grice. Saw him do good. Not like you. Not- anything. Everything flawed and sick and weak. And everyone. Not sure anymore which is cause and which is effect.”

Dan led his trembling partner upstairs. Dan steered him, coat, hat and all down onto the pillows of his own bed and sat beside him while Rorschach continued to shake and talk a steady stream of mostly-nonsense to himself about good and evil. The pauses in his monologue grew longer and more frequent. When he had been silent for a full four minutes by the wall clock, Dan rose to leave. A gloved hand caught his sleeve.  
Rorschach said nothing, but held on to Dan too tightly to pry off. Dan stilled and slid his hand down to hold Rorschach’s. At first their hands merely rested against each other, then the touch extended to their forearms pressed together, fingers entwined. 

Gradually Rorschach let Dan hold more of him- his scalp, the nape of his neck, his flat bony hip, until he was tucked flush against Dan’s comfortable bulk. The bony, knobby bits- his knees and elbows and hips- dug into Daniel, but he said nothing about the discomfort, resting his cheek against the smooth mask. Rorschach hadn’t showered since he’d last been at Dan’s but he was still clean enough that the smell of car oil and sweat and fermenting fruit was actually pleasant.

Rorschach spoke in the darkness, one hand resting on the swell of Dan’s stomach, “Lied to you.”

“What?”

“Lied to you. Earlier. Lied to self. Said I didn’t understand why- no reason- not true.”

Dan remained silent and let Rorschach talk.

“Am- have been- sick. For years.”

“Sick?” Dan asked.

“Not with him. Not as much. Comedian knew things, saw things. Must have known. Only explanation.”

Again, Dan could think of nothing to say. His mind slowly deciphered Rorschach’s oblique meanings, and he felt exactly how close they were right then. Shifting slightly, he felt something unmistakable against his thigh. As the other shoe finally dropped Dan felt another surge of fury at the Comedian for damaging his already broken partner in yet another unfixable way.

“That’s bullshit,” he said louder than he’d meant to, “It wouldn’t matter if you showed up for patrol in drag, he had no right.”

Rorschach made a noise that was mostly outrage with a sliver of honest amusement, then grew deadly serious again.

“Think so?” He tilted towards Dan, almost pressing his erection against Dan’s free hand. “Think I’m better than I am. Stronger. I’m not. Never told you. Thought I hid it well. Must have seen.”

Dan’s mouth was so dry, he licked his lips, “Never told me- what, Rorschach?”

His partner was quiet for so long Dan thought the conversation was over, “…Wanted you. Back. Before. Tried not to. Always tried not to.”

“Wanted- ” Dan choked, “as in- past tense? Not anymore?”

Rorschach enked and shook his head against Dan’s arm. Carefully, Dan turned onto his side to face Rorschach, running his thumbs along the smaller man’s square jaw. He made no move to peel up the mask, but kissed his partner gently through the latex. Rorschach shifted towards him, their faces bumping clumsily against each other. He wound himself around Daniel a dozen different ways- legs, arms, fingers- the two of them a sturdy Sequoia and some prickly vine, tenacious of life but itchy as hell if you touched it with bare hands. 

Dan unbuttoned Rorschach’s trench coat, amazed as the vigilante allowed him to slide his hands under all those layers to reach that funny, freckled skin. He trailed his hands up and down Rorschach’s back and sides, lapping at his open mouth through the mask. Rorschach twined furiously at Dan’s hair, rubbing his head roughly back and forth between kisses. The thin body above him hummed as Dan explored the knobby spine. Enthralled, Dan slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Rorschach’s trousers to grasp his flat ass, desperate to pull him closer.

Rorschach bit down on Dan’s throat in a way that was the opposite of affectionate. Even through the mask his teeth bruised hard and he hung on like a terrier, the grip on Dan’s hair becoming brutal in an instant. Rorschach sprang away and struck Dan a fierce elbow jab in the jugular that left him gulping. Crouched on the floor at the foot of the bed, battle in every line of his body, Rorschach stared at Dan.

After a minute in which Dan did no more than lie gasping like a fish Rorschach hung his head. His shoulders shook, “Hnnk…Sorry. Sorry, Daniel. Thought you….”

“Hhit’s hok buhdy- ” wheezed Dan, “Hi should’ve known behter. Sorry hi hurt you,” he leaned forward and caught Rorschach’s arm before he could retreat, “Dhon’t go.”

Gingerly, Rorschach came to sit beside Dan again. “Daniel. Must tell you. Still- feel the same way. About you. Just. Don’t, can’t want- not after. Know you are different, but still. Can’t do that again. Not ever.”

Dan shut his eyes, and tilted his head back, “Rorschach, I’d never ask you to do anything you don’t want to. But please, just stay? You don’t ever have to get any closer than this.”

“Thank you, Daniel. Will stay, for a while.” 

They sat in silence for a while, then Dan switched off the bedside light, leaving the room in darkness. 

“Threw him out a window, Daniel,” Dan wasn’t sure if it was an observation or a question.

“Yeah. 28 stories.” 

“How did you get him to do it?”

“Get who?”

“Ozymandias. Threw Comedian out window.”

“Shit- how did you guess that?”

“Hrm. Obvious really. You had motive but not means. Too flabby to be match for Comedian physically.”

Dan debated whether or not to take offense, but decided it wasn’t worth it. “True. I tried to take care of it myself, but that didn’t work out too well.”

Rorschach shifted, “Hurt you Daniel?”

“Mostly my pride.”

“Hrm. Still haven’t concluded why Veidt agreed to help you. Didn’t tell him- what happened?”

“Of course not,” Dan retorted, “But Blake did mention him, hinted that he knew something about Veidt. And Adrian’s always got something on the back burner that he doesn’t want anyone knowing about. I called him up and told him that Blake had found me and was babbling on nonsense about some secret project. I played it off as a joke, the Comedian going as paranoid as- well, um, others. But Adrian’s too meticulous to leave any loose ends. Anyway, if it hadn’t worked I’d have gone back there and finished it myself, physical fitness be damned. I’m- I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of him myself, buddy. I wanted to make it slower, give him what he really deserved.”

Rorschach made a noncommittal noise, “Not important. Of course, actions indicate something to Comedian’s assertions. Veidt clearly hiding something. Must investigate further.”

“Sure buddy,” sighed Dan, “We can start tomorrow.”


End file.
